... on Reza Ordoubadian's story
By Professor Hamechizdon
August 20, 2001
Our "fellouwwws" just informed me about Dr.
Ordoubadian's analysis of his own piece,"The
man who would sleep with his angel"!! We think this is a perfect
historical moment to publish our rewrite of his story. Your readers can
read them together and eshgh konan. Mr. Ordoubadian has personally thanked
us . He loves our style of prose and our biting tongue!
So, go ahead publish our story of Davood the taxi driver, and Maryam
the multicultural sanitation worker from kharejeh keshvar. many of these
underlying themes add insight to our odots and ahvals.
Students! How are you doing with the last days of your ta' teelat? We
can't wait for the year to start to use your research and publish the good
ones in our own name. We have been faced with a troubling paradoxical inquiry
about a curious piece written by the master of multi-social perspectives,
the one and only Dr. Ordoubadian. Our department has been asked to illuminate
on his story.
Who is Davoood? Who is Maryam? What is the nature of their discourse?
Our students have been mesmerized by the overlapping activities of our
beloved philosopher, the social scientist, the linguist, the cultural commentator,
Hafez translator, Nooneh turned Noon (gender signifier), our inspirational
guru, O Reza!
O Reza, has incorporated elements from both cultures to create an epic
set in the Appalachian Mountains. From reading thousands of pages of manuscript
we can now say that our hero Davood is in fact a kharejeh keshvari taxi
His problems start with being astigmatic or possibly myopic. Notice that
the woman keeps appearing and disappearing from his sight. However, according
to some of our research "fellowwous" he definitely has abeh morvarid
because his eyes constantly produce tear, preventing him from seeing the
He is surprised to find anyone walking without an umbrella in that pouring
rain; little does he know that Maryam who works for the sanitation department
wearing the yellow rain coat, is one of our own Kharejeh Keshvaries. But
she has not embraced it yet! What do we mean by that? She has just come
from Ghazvin and really just zabanesh ghasereh. But no! Being partially
blind, he does not see that she is also almost ghaseerol-ghameh (a midget).
Again he can only see a raincoat. The taxi driver is a bache- bazaree
His eyes are hurting and he has a confused mind. Of course, she could
have been just a mirage; he remembers hearing about different kinds of airplanes
and war machines and he loves the mirage -- that kind of Hill Billy mountain
rain can easily distort vision!
He shouts, "Hell!" This is a good word he has learned. You
see the danger is inside him. Maryam, the Kharejeh Keshvari sanitation
worker is now peering through the glass, she is saying something he could
not understand. Zabanesh ghasereh!
-- "Open the door!"
-- "What "I don't... I can't hear you...!"
-- "Open the door!"
-- "Oh!... Yes -- of course!"
He is staring at her. He has never seen anything like this. Is it her
jet-black hair protruding like a black halo from underneath her rain cap.
Oh no no no. That ain't hair. It is her "bogh-cheh". She is multi-cultural.
-- "Are you afraid?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
-- "Why... no!" He replied.
-- "I was just thinking..."
-- "Do you want me to drive you to your place... I mean, I'll be glad
to take... "
It is his job. He is a taxi driver. But then again he can't say it.
-- "You could, but I came to help you! You're lost!"
-- "It's not that -- but let me take you to your trailer first..."
She is working on Highway North, where they park their equipment and
-- "You're an angle!" he said with a Sadaat accent (pronouncing
"a" as in apple).
-- "Not to worry! I've been driving for thirty years!"
-- "That's what scares me..."
-- "Wait and see!"
He is removing his foot from the clutch when the car rattles and shakes,
but instead of going forward, it rolls back, almost to the edge of the road.
-- "Boy! That was close!"
-- "No, but you had the gear in reverse," she said and fell
A spooky Kharejeh Keshvari woman. Did she or did she not speak Fingeelisi?
She should not be in a car with a stranger, a taxi driver.
-- "Woman, I've got a hard on for you."
He had a hard-boiled egg to offer this passenger. He thought, "Fifteen
years of marriage had produced three children and a life full of dissatisfactions.
My wife still doesn't know how to boil eggs." Nevertheless, he was
-- "Dam!" he muttered under his breath. The woman turned and
smiled. She had worked in Hoover Dam the year before and he immediately
knew that she had read his mind.
-- "Dam! Damn!" His accent was Sadaat incarnate!
-- "Are you damning me?" the woman asked, with a kinder voice.
"You can't, you know... I cannot be damned!"
-- "If you could only read my mind... then, I wouldn't have to say
They had now passed the dam; too late for his English practice.
Before she could answer, they had arrived at the trailer. The man turned
away from her and watched the large drops of rain splash the abeh morvarid
from his eyes again.
"God help me!" he thought with a sad smile. "What am I
getting myself into?"
-- " In the rocking chair; pick your choice. In old movies strangers
slept in the bath tub, but I don't have a bath tub."
There was no hesitation in her voice; she knew exactly what she was doing.
"I don't want to do this," he thought, but he went forward.
-- "I'll get us some cookies, noon nokhodchee and baslogh, I made
it this week. It is in my bogh-cheh," she said as she was slipping
away from him. When she returned, she had a plateful in her hand, but he
had not moved, and she bumped to him hard. "I know her game!"
She knows Fingeelisi
He was now physically agitated. They spent the rest of the day watching
each other. But to no avail. "You don't talk much!" She said.
That wasn't true. He had been in the U.S. for thirty years now. He could
say, "Got it," perfectly.
-- "Ever since I saw you by the river I knew you wanted me, but
Davood went to her and, without asking, took a towel to dry the dishes
as she washed them in the sink. There was no need for words. Frustrated
and unsteady with ambivalence, twice he dropped the forks, and twice she
rinsed them off. When he could not hold the skillet, and it fell on the
kitchen floor with a crashing sound, he finally let go of the towel, turned
to one side, and started biting the hell out of her. This woman was clumsy!
She had to be taught a lesson. She seemed to offer herself as a sacrifice,
if that was what he wanted. she was an over-size rag doll.
-- "Don't just sit there like a rag doll!"
-- "I have said all I could," she answered. "You don't
seem to accept my answer."
Did it matter if neither could speak English?
-- "Are you different? I mean, sexually," he asked.
-- "Yes," she answered simply.
-- "You won't believe it!"
-- "Show me."
-- "What are you doing? Don't... don't tear gas the room.. I just
don't know English! Aaaakh My eyes."
Outside, the rain all but stopped. Down the road, he was taking another
passenger to the ocean.
The author reserves all rights.
Professor Hamechizdon holds a Fee.h.D. degree in Kharejeh Keshvari
linguistics. He has held a professorship at Middle East Studies and Cultures
of Kharejeh Keshvaries at Southern Khar-dar-Chaman University and has published
numerous pieces on Kharejeh Keshvarie Odots and their Ahvals.